Blitz
by BookOfXcentric
Summary: This story was inspired by one of the sentences from my other story 'Slice of Life'. It is dark, angsty and about Natsume being severely injured by a youkai. Worst sum I ever made.


**A/N: **I have no idea why I wrote this fic; it came to me after writing "Slice of life" I guess there is a connection between the two (check out my fic "Slice of Life" sentence number 4)  
>Several of the sentences are part of bigger stories whirling around in my head, but number 4 was the one that hit the paper… I don't know why (It could have been 2, 7, 22, 28, 30, 34, 37, 38, 45 or 48) *sigh* Sometimes I hate my brain… it spins things out of control…<br>This might possibly turn into a two-shot but don't expect second chapter any time soon.

OXXXO

**Quote of the fic:  
><strong>"_The fear of death follows from the fear of life._"  
>- Mark Twain<p>

OXXXO

Rigorous summer rain always leaves the air feeling heavy and moist, that moist filled air worms its way into everything and it smells wonderful, leaving a fine watery sheet on the leaves and flowers, collecting in dents and puddles like the first morning dew. And the fragrances of nature, otherwise trapped within the fauna, are released. Natsume enjoys the fresh showered scent of the forest, because it is the first thing he becomes aware of.

The second is the somewhat pleasant sensation of the warm drops touching his face, unhurriedly tugging his consciousness away from the black slumber of the oblivious, before they silently slide down his cheek and plunges to their death against the ground.

The third are the sounds, for even though no birds are singing in the forest, the rain itself directs a symphony of beats as it carries out its onslaught on the fauna. Depending on the surface the drops hit, the sounds which are generated vary from dull thuds to a rustling blitz against the foliage.

The fourth is the torturous pain that flares through his body like an electric charge. As the same warm drops turns into red hot daggers of ice penetrating the three large bleeding gashes covering his back, ranging from his shoulder blades, coming around his right side and ends just before his navel.

He's laying on his side leaving the cuts open to assault of the elements

He breathes in a violent gasp, signalling to the unwitting world that he's awake; a scream of pain tries to tear its way up and out through his throat but no sound escapes his lips, instead he chokes and in a coughing action spits out dirt and bloodied saliva on the ground. The few straps of what is left of his bloodied spoiled shirt clings desperately to his skin, rubbing excruciatingly against the wounds. The agonizing friction between fabric and raw skin is mind numbing, even so his consciousness refuses to return back to the tranquil oblivion which calls it. It is too awake by now, too aware…

All the things he noticed before are gone now; they're like insubstantial shadows in the background, only the pain is distinguishable.

The cuts on his back are massive; open bleeding gashes, clawed deep into his skin with the intention to be fatal; yet, Natsume lives. As he tries to find leverage and hoist himself up on his knees the world around spins, like a distorted merry-go-round. And the pain becomes a nauseous entity; an epitome of sick, spinning anguishing torture. He bites his tongue; the theory is that pain relieves pain, and a few stray tears escapes at the corners of his eyes, their existence hidden away from the world by the rain; as salt mixes with fresh water.

With a sudden burst of strength he did not know he possessed he managed to swing back onto his knees and again the forest rotates unbearably before his eyes, like a whirlwind inside of his head. Severed muscles scream in agony at the move and for the first time the cry does break free from his lips, spilling out like a wail from the depths.

Unfortunately the forest can not hear him. They say 'the forest have eye and ears', maybe so. But whoever said it could see and hear?

Slowly he becomes accustomed to the new setting and allows the symphony of rain to once again dominate the world around. Minuets go by, maybe even hours. He does not know; his concept of time is gone. Instead he only feels the thick blood running down his back. His own cold, wet hand traces the outline of the wound, coating slick fingers in horrid sanguine fluid…

The nervous liquid of life painting his hand in red, it's not supposed to be there, it is wrong. Why are his senses this discombobulated? Nothing makes sense, yet everything does. His consciousness is a mumbled mass of incoherent strands of information; like splashes of paint in a Jackson Pollock painting. Somewhere down there lays a lucid archetype but it's hidden by layers of chaos.

And slowly, creepingly shock begins to take over… reducing the pain into a mere dull throbbing sensation, which is perhaps even more uncomfortable. There is a ringing tone resounding in his ears and every part of his being is quivering from the inside out.

He is left bruised, beaten and bloody. The tears in his ragged shirt can not mended, it is nothing but garbage now, and somewhere he wonders if Touko-san will be mad at him for spoiling the shirt.

The blood smells: a salty musk that intermingles with the fresh scent of newly shed rain watering the fauna. Slowly he opens and closes his hand repeatedly; the blood feels thick and sticky on his fingers. It is beginning to coagulate, a sign of healing. The wounds were intended to be fatal, but they're not. They're not deep enough; they didn't graze any vital organs.

Once again; a miraculous escape…. This is the way his life has always been.

He's tired. Fighting shock is a conscious act, but he must not allow this realisation to go by, and that's when it hit him: Why is he alone? Where is Nyanko-sensei?

The rain beats down on his face, but it doesn't hurt, summer rain never does. It's soothing, coiling him in its cool, deceitful embrace; as if it does recognize the wounded boy and moves to offer him a chance to respite; and for the first time Natsume breathes and acknowledges it.

The breath tickles his dry throat and fills his lungs, expanding his chest until the pectoral muscles suffers like their about to snap, and the ribs feel like they will crack by the pressure from inside.

It hurts.

Only once he exhales does the world come crashing down again, and the memories flow, flashes… a pair of gentle blue eyes, as smile warm and conniving. An invite. An outstretched hand. A cold wind. Twisting lips. Black dead eyes. Clawed hands around his neck, prepared to snap it like a twig. His life shattered in the hands of the Youkai; left to the mercy of the Monster.

This incident confirmed one of his most fundamental knowledge's, reminded him of its importance: _if it looks like a human, moves like human, and talks like a human, then it's probably not a human. _His difficulty with distinguishing humans from Ayakashi had taught him that at a young age, and he lived with it as his motto, as a mantra inside his head. Recently he had strayed from that belief, and that error was the reason for his current condition.

He watches silently as the rain washes the thick coagulated blood of off his hand. Should he attempt walking, to find his way home? Or wait for someone to come for him? Maybe Sensei, or Misuzu, Taki, Tanuma or his dad, or perhaps Natori…

Would Touko-san call the police? Maybe she already had? Perhaps no one had noticed he was gone yet… Maybe no one cared…

The sound of light steps disrupting the forest ground, sinking into wet grass, reached is ears. The fragile mass of green straws surrendered under the weight of expensive shoes, descending upon them with haughty steps; and the beating of heavy drops against an unfolded umbrella resounded.

The feeling of life; a warm creature with a beating heart. The simple knowledge that he wasn't alone out here in this haze of pain and cold surrounded by the rain was perhaps the most important feeling he had ever experienced. It is a sensation which makes you feel as if you belong and are worth something, that you have a reason to survive. It extinguishes the hopelessness in the same way water does to the flame.

Natsume tried calling out for the person, make his existence known, but both his body and voice failed him as his muscles gave in to the exhaustion. He closed his eyes, listing to the pounding beats of his strained heart as it hammered against his ribs. It overwhelmed his senses, took over everything, closing all other sounds out. Until all he could hear was his own thumping heart pumping blood through his veins.

The sound of those light steps closing in on him was blocked out. It wasn't until they had ceased that he realized the person had stopped right in front of him. Natsume looked up, strained his tired eyes to see who had come across him, who had been out walking in the rain. And a single hard red eye met a pair of pained, struggling golden. No words were exchanged, only silence… except for rhythmic beating of the rain

Matoba's face carried no expression, other than a tiny hint of surprise, as a quick gleam of restrained perplexity through the uncovered eye and then it was gone.

Suddenly the dark whirled before Natsume's eyes, twisting the world into a shadowy landscape, and Matoba's face swam out of focus as the darkness began clogging his vision. He swayed gently as he tried desperately to cling onto consciousness. As his body failed him, and he fell towards the wet ground once again Natsume felt a cold hand grab his wrist in a firm grip preventing him from colliding with the soil.

He could only somewhat distantly distinguish the sensation of being lifted, hoisted up into a pair of strong arms, and carried away through the soaked forest. The rain still playing its dripping symphony as a salute to the Survivor…

**THE END.**

OXXXO

**A/N: **I hope the dramaturgy isn't too much… There might be a chapter two but don't expect it any time soon, I only write when I feel like, I can only write when I feel like it…  
>When it comes to Natsume Yuujinchou I can't seem to bring myself to write of interactions. I can only write of internal interpretations rather than external interactions, which is the type of story that I actually like.<p> 


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